


The Chalice

by eldritcher



Series: The Journal of Fingolfin [12]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:48:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4002949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We who partook of the chalice must drain it down to bitter dregs.</p><p>In which Fingon and Maedhros battle with their past. Eventually, something must give, and Fingon realizes that his cousin is stronger than him, for all that they call the man insane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chalice

Names:

Maedhros - Maitimo - Russandol  
Fingon - Findekano  
Galadriel - Artanis  
Aredhel - Irisse  
Fingolfin - Nolofinwe  
Feanor - Feanaro  
Turgon - Turkano  
Finrod - Findarato  
Maglor - Macalaure  
Curufin - Atarinke.

 

 

“I will leave you in charge then. He is asleep.” Macalaurë’s voice was weary as he strode past me, clearly relieved to leave the claustrophobic atmosphere of the tent. 

I closed the flap of the tent and settled down to my vigil. In the dim flickering torchlight, I could see the emaciated form on the cot. He seemed peaceful for a change. I sat down heavily in the chair by his side. The creaking of the furniture made him stir uneasily. I took up my harp and began playing softly until he had once again fallen into his peaceful rest. As the notes of music died away, a wistful smile came to rest on his lips.

It twisted my heart. He had not smiled since the rescue. I leant back uneasily and poured myself an extremely generous measure of the ale I had brought along. The drink was turning into my constant companion. I loathed drunkards. If anyone had told me before the Exile that I would one day join the ilk of drunkards, I would have called him out for a duel. 

“What drives you to drink?” His voice still held a measure of concern despite his obvious exhaustion. 

“I had not realized you were awake.” 

I rubbed my eyes blearily and set down the goblet on the floor. My voice was slurred. I could feel the drink warming my blood. I must have taken more than was my usual to feel the effects so vividly. 

“The smell woke me.” 

He was still watching me curiously. I drew back and peered at him with the absolute concentration of a drunkard. The crimson hair formed a grotesque halo about his wan features. His ordeals had left dark hollows under his grey eyes. The torchlight accentuated the gauntness of his face. Then my eyes wandered helplessly towards the cause of my torment.

He seemed to be following my thoughts, for he said calmly, “You did all that you could. Then you did what you had to.”

I averted my eyes and muttered, “Shall I play my harp?”

“If you must.” His voice had a trace of the proud prince he had once been. His grey eyes shone in the torchlight, reminding me of all the reasons why I had to drink.

“Maitimo,” I began hoarsely. 

It had always lain between us unspoken. He had not been interested. I had never found the courage. But now, the drink in my blood spurred on recklessly. 

He looked up curiously, his nose wrinkling in displeasure as I leant forward. The smell must have been quite strong then. I drowned in his gaze. It had only pity and concern. Brotherly concern. I did not need to ask him more. There had never been anything else.

“I will play my harp.” I cleared my throat and picked up the instrument.

He did not reply. 

I alternated between playing the harp and pouring myself more ale. The music had given way to dull scraping as I fought to remain awake. I decided to retire to my tent. Perhaps I could wake Findaráto or Irissë and ask them to take on my vigil duty. 

I rose to my feet unsteadily and stretched. Perhaps I should take a day off my duties and sleep off the drunken torpor. My head throbbed uncomfortably. And my eyes were playing tricks. They showed me a decadent scene. My cousin was sprawled supine on the cot, a welcoming smile lurking on the corners of his lips. His eyes were dilated in slumber, or were they dilated because of desire? He glowed in the firelight inviting my hungry gaze. 

Just to make sure that he was all right I walked quietly to his side and stooped over to check his pulse. It throbbed warmly under my fingers. I smiled in satisfaction and nodded to myself. As I made to stand, I noticed that the first tie of his robe had come loose, revealing the whiteness of his throat. 

It was curiosity that caused my fingers to brush his collarbone. It was curiosity that made my fingers stray down to the next tie. He stirred and made to turn to his side. It was concern for his health that made me tip his head back and pour down the drugging concoction our healers had brewed. The same concern made me amply use one of the many salves that lay littered about on the table beside the cot. 

Moments later when I had carefully cupped my hand over his mouth to stifle his shouts as I drove into him, I could no longer blame curiosity or concern. 

 

He recovered slowly, carried on by the inexorable will that had always been his. I was the steadfast cousin who helped him as he recuperated. 

“Findekáno!” Irissë’s voice was disgusted. “Must you drink during the day too?”

Of course I must. The ale lent me composure during the day and a damning courage during the night. Where would I be without its fortification? 

“Have you nothing better to do than supervise my ale intake?” I snapped at her. 

She raised her eyebrows. I sighed. I would pay for raising my voice at her. She would ensure that I did. Not for nothing was she called the daughter Fëanáro never had. 

“Maitimo wishes an audience with you.”

I had never spoken to him directly after that fateful night. Always ensuring that there was another in the tent during my daytime visits I had escaped reality successfully for a very long while now. Nights were another matter. He would never speak during these nights.

“Where is he?”

“In the paddock, with father.” 

Irissë gave my bottle of ale another disgusted glare before sweeping regally out of my tent

I rushed to the basin and rinsed my face. My intake had been lower than usual. That was fortunate since it would not do to bring my indulgence to my father’s notice. Combing my hair with my fingers, I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I looked decently presentable. 

 

He was leaning against the fence, his gaze on the wispy clouds that dotted the sky. In the paddock, my father was breaking in a young stallion.

“Cousin,” I greeted Maitimo with as much nonchalant joviality as I could muster. 

He did not look at me, but inclined his head to acknowledge my greeting. The grim set of his chin made me grateful that I had refrained from drinking heavily this day. Uneasiness settled in my gut as I watched my father trying to tame the proud stallion. The sharp lash of the whip on the animal’s flanks made me flinch. The reaction was immediately followed by a rush of heat to my loins. There was something unexplainably erotic about the sound made by a whip against hard flesh.

“Would you use it on me?”

I must have blanched as I turned in shock to face his calm, questioning gaze. Only the slightest flaring of his nostrils marked the battering sea of emotions beneath the serenity. 

“I was not paying attention. What did you say, Maitimo?” 

I desperately searched for an escape route. An escape route that would let me live my dual life and pretend that this had never been dragged out under the sun.

“You did hear me, cousin.” His words were precise and clipped. “I asked you if you would use a whip on me.”

“Why would I?” I gasped hoarsely. My fingers worked their way up to unlace my collar. The air seemed stifling and nauseous at the moment.

“I don’t find pretense fulfilling, Findekáno. If I wanted you to choose between the night and the day, what would you pick?”

“Neither!” I shouted at him furiously as his cool gaze met my passionate one without fear. “You ask me to choose between drink-induced guilt and guilt-induced drink!”

“Lower your voice!” he hissed, his eyes narrowing in anger. “I want you to be reasonable and make amends as you can.”

“There are no amends that I can make, you damn fool!” 

My voice broke. I wanted the comfort of the ale. I craved for the darkness of the night when I could drug him senseless and bring alive my fantasy.

“If my brothers know there will be trouble.”

A faint smile graced his lips now as he watched my father whip the skittish colt again. I swore foully. How low have I fallen to harm my much loved cousin in this manner? How low has he fallen to be so detached and resigned to my betrayal?

“What do you mean, Maitimo? I cannot be forgiven. Nothing I do can ever make the pain and the--”

He cut me off saying sharply, “I have no wish to listen to your heartfelt platitudes. You raped me.”

The term broke something within me. I opened my mouth to speak, but the unrelenting gaze he had fixed me with killed my words. He had merely spoken the truth. I shuddered. Nights were easier; when he was drugged by the healers and I was fortified by the drink I did not fear to face him. 

“What amends would you have?” I asked him brokenly.

Across us, my father delivered a last lash and the stallion reared its graceful head defiantly before snorting in acceptance and stilling. It stood pliant and tame as my father gently ran his fingers through its long mane petting away its distress. 

“It is broken in,” Maitimo said in a quiet voice as we watched Fingolfin mounting the horse easily. 

“My father is good in breaking them in.” I shrugged and turned away. 

“The boys who come to your tent, are they of age?”

I turned to face him aghast. The same eerie calm shone in his eyes as they regarded me. I swallowed as I wondered where this conversation would lead to.

“They are.”

“Barely of age though. I asked.” He absently rubbed the stump of his right hand. He had accepted the maiming calmly. Unlike me…I could never bring myself to look at it without thinking of my guilt.

“They were not coerced if that is what you need to know. I have not fallen so low,” I said in a low tone filled with self-hatred.

Most of us had taken to drowning our frustrations in lust and hunting. I was hardly to be blamed for indulging in what had always been a pastime for me. Before the Exile, Maitimo had often arranged for courtesans and soldiers to provide me services. He had seemed to think nothing of it then.

“But you do hurt them.” His voice was soft and menacing now. 

“I prefer it so. They understand my taste.” 

I lied. The poor boys often did not understand my taste. Most were sons of the soldiers who served me. Their fathers sought to increase their rank by sending the lads to me. I suspect that at least a few of the young souls were forced by their fathers to come to my tent at night. On nights without drink, I would be kind and send them away. The nights when I was drunk constituted something else altogether.

“I want you to stop harming those poor lads.” Maitimo leant forward earnestly, his expression weighed down by his determination. 

I understood his fears. He did not want me to force my partners. But the arrogance in his words infuriated me. Did he expect me to blindly obey him as I used to? I would. But that he would presume it of me rankled.

“Not everyone can be as celibate as you, cousin,” I said passionately.

“I understand. I am not a fool.” He shrugged and leant back on the fence looking languidly regal. I took in a deep breath to control my reaction on seeing his lithe frame relaxed under the bright sunlight.

“I will let you use me in any way you wish. But you will leave the unwilling lads alone.” He averted his eyes to study the knee-high grass swaying in the wind.

I stared at him. A seep of high colour graced the bridge of his nose as he bore my inspection quietly. His fingers were curling and uncurling themselves over the rail of the fence. The tendons in his neck were strained.

He reminded me of the stallion my father had broken in. Fragile, unworldly and proud.

“I don’t know why you would speak like this. I find that I cannot continue this conversation anymore.” I spoke the plain truth and turned away. 

He had held my heart for years. He had spurned me continuously from the very first time I had dared to speak of this. What would make him accept me: the revelation that I might have forced my partners? I felt nauseated. I would never forgive myself for the crime I had perpetrated on him. Did he have to add to the crime by suggesting such a method out of my dark pit of drink and guilt?

“Stop, Findekáno,” he said softly, his eyes still on the grass. “I would rather kill you than watch you forcing another.”

“I don’t understand!” I shouted. “I treated you like this and all that you are concerned about is that I might treat another so? And you would offer me yourself for that?”

“Yes.” He finally met my gaze defiantly. “I have my reasons. Your indulgence might cost us soldiers. I cannot have anyone hindering our cause. You will break your father’s heart if you continue this way. My brothers would murder you if they knew of what you have done to me. I can give you any number of reasons as to why you should accept my proposal.” 

His voice had turned passionate and fevered as he explained his reasons. It reminded me of the days in Tirion when he would debate in my grandfather’s court. 

“I will restrict my indulgences if you wish,” I said truthfully. “You do not have to force me to give it up by making such an offer. I would give it up entirely than ever hearing you speak those words again.”

“There was nothing dishonourable in my offer. If I could save someone from the darker side of your indulgence then I consider it a very noble undertaking.” His eyes were again staring thoughtfully at the sun.

It broke my restraint. All of us had curtailed the rougher side of our emotions when he had been recovering. We had suppressed all talk of what might have happened to him during his captivity. He had wanted it forgotten.

“How low have you fallen to even speak of this proposal?” I shouted at him. My hands fisted themselves, and I snarled as he tilted his head to look at me, his eyes shining in curiosity. I cursed and brought my right hand up to strike his jaw. Then it happened.

He closed his eyes. His breathing rate had increased. His body was held still by strained effort. When you are about to punch someone, he will either shrink away or make a defensive move to shield himself. He will not stand rigid waiting for the blow to connect. I cursed again in disgust. His chest was rising and falling in suppressed anticipation.

“Open your eyes,” I ground out through my teeth.

He obeyed me immediately. Arousal and fear. The pupils of his eyes were dilated in arousal and fear. 

Pity and compassion rose in me as I understood him finally. Of its own accord, the hand which had fisted in for a punch moved to stroke the side of his face. He closed his eyes again. When he opened them this time, there was the calm detachment that had always been his characteristic. The fear and arousal had died out.

“Why?”

It was the only question I should not have asked him. Anger, pain and humiliation shot through his eyes and his lips pursed as he leant back again. I wanted to say something more appropriate, something that would not hurt his feelings. But the expression on his face told me that it would be of no consequence now.

“Have you ever been restrained at the mercy of another? Have you closed your eyes your only prayer that you would never have to open them again? Have you been forced to submit to perversions that you know you should hate but cannot help craving? Have you been forced to drink your own blood and found that you liked the taste? If you have, then you will know the answer to your question!”

He groaned and passed his hand over his forehead wearily. “I shouldn’t have spoken so. I don’t know what came over me. Let this pass, cousin.”

I should be grateful, I knew, to have escaped his censure so easily. But I could not bring myself to let his confession pass. He strode past me, a grimace darkening his handsome face. 

“Maitimo,” I called after him, “wait!”

“What is it?”

“I will consent to your proposal.” 

It was the stupidest sentence I have ever spoken. No good would come out of it, I was sure. I worship the ground he walks on. My fantasies consisted of slow, languorous couplings replete with love and soft words. He asked for something else. It would be the destruction of me.

He turned to face me. 

“You will?” he asked tentatively, not letting his calm mask fall away.

“Yes,” I swore. “But you must come to me. I cannot touch you without your consent.”

“I don’t know how to ask. I have never been in a situation where I was allowed to ask for attention.” He shook his head bleakly and turned away. The fine trembling of his fingers did not go unnoticed. 

“You needn’t,” I said quietly. “All you need do is come to me. There need be no words.”

His dark hair shone crimson in the rays of the setting sun. Now, more than ever before, he reminded me of a stallion.

“I am depraved. Now I have brought you into the web of my depravity. I have no choice, none I would trust enough to ask this of. You have raped me. You might do the same to someone else again in the heights of lust and drink. If you agree to my proposal, we might at least spare others from your indulgence and my secret shall remain a secret. I wish it weren’t so, cousin.” 

He sighed and walked away, his shoulders slouched.

* * *

The family dined together that night. A trying experience, to say the least, since the running feud between Angarato and Carnistro continued, subtly lending a strained air to the gathering.   
Turkáno had discreetly seated himself between Atarinkë and Aikanaro lest they quarrel in their brothers’ defence.

My father sat at the head of the table, warily keeping an eye on the boisterous activities of Tyelkormo and Irissë. Maitimo sat between Findaráto and my father, a smile lingering on his lips as he listened to Findaráto’s opinion on something. I sat across him and was trying to converse with a brooding Macalaurë, who was seated to my left.

“Cousin,” Maitimo remarked blandly half-way through the meal, “would you mind if I joined you later to discuss something?”

I dropped my spoon with a clatter. My father made an amused comment about my unusual clumsiness. I did not hear his words though. I was staring at Maitimo. His grey eyes met mine for a moment before he turned his attention to his wine goblet. He was nervous then. I wondered if my face would give away our secret to everybody gathered there.

“I will await you.” I tried to make my voice as bland as his had been. I don’t imagine that I succeeded very much for Findaráto gave me a curious look.

I did what I normally do to fortify my composure: I drank. When my father began to shoot concerned glances at me, I excused myself and retreated to my tent. There I was alone and could indulge to my heart’s content. 

 

 

A clearing of the throat alerted me to his arrival. I rose from my chair and turned to face him. He stood encased in the shaft of moonlight shining into my tent, his features shadowed from my vision except for his shining eyes that watched me. For a long moment we stood staring at each other. Then he let his gaze drop to his feet.

I understood the significance; he had surrendered his will to me. The night would be solely my responsibility. What was I to do? I had never felt more frightened in my entire life. What exactly did he expect of me? I shifted my weight from one foot to the other uneasily. He stood on the threshold of the tent, his posture stiff and unyielding awaiting my acknowledgement of the situation.

“Come in,” I said finally, “and close the flap of the tent behind you.”

He exhaled deeply before obeying my instructions. As he turned to let down the flap of the tent, I rubbed my eyes angrily. This was not how I wanted him. But this was how he wanted me and I would do whatever I could.

He turned again to face me, his eyes to the ground. Probably he did not want to look into the same eyes which would face him at a dinner or a debate the next morning. The clear delineation between night and day; I understood the necessity. But again, it reminded me painfully of what this was not. 

Such passivity as he adhered to now left me at a loss. I did not know what to do next. 

“You will tell me if it turns uncomfortable, won’t you?” 

He looked up at me uncertainly. A veritable sea of emotions crossed his visage before he nodded his head in assent. I was reminded forcibly of the stallion my father had broken in. 

I sighed and resumed my seat pouring myself the ale. I could not do it to him, not when he meant so much to me. 

“I can’t,” I said baldly as I looked up at him.

He swallowed and met my gaze. I will never forget the haunted expression that his eyes held then. 

“I wish I could,” I said brokenly. “But I cannot bring myself to treat you any lesser than you deserve to be. What you ask is beyond me.”

He did not reply but turned away. I thought he would leave. I swallowed. I wished that he would understand, that he would realize he deserved much more than this. The ale would be my escape to fantasies. But for him even the ale did not offer solace.

He stopped walking and turned to face me. The expression in his eyes was grim and slightly mad. I made to speak, but his subsequent actions left me at a loss for words.

His fingers slowly undid the laces of his robe, his eyes intent on the task. I rose from my seat, abruptly calling out his name, but he did not cease until the robe had pooled down at his feet leaving him naked in the candlelight. He stepped forward away from the tangle of clothes under his feet.

I bit back an exclamation of distress as he gracefully sank to his knees. He looked up at me for a moment before bending his head to touch the ground, his elegant spine arcing cleanly from his neck to the raised hips. 

A living portrait of complete submission he made. 

I choked in part-disgust and part-anger. The disgust was at myself for allowing him to disgrace himself in this manner. The anger was at him for having manipulated my emotions neatly so as to trap me. I had been depraved enough to touch him when he was bedridden and sick. How could I turn away from the magnificent sight before my eyes when he was entirely willing and desperate for my attentions?

I sighed angrily before gulping down the remnant of my drink. The warmth of the ale made me gain an ounce of confidence. He had not moved. His thighs quivered with the effort of maintaining the position. 

“Rise.” 

I did not use his name. I did not call him ‘cousin’. I knew neither would be welcomed. The cold formality of my voice achieved what nothing else had. His spine relaxed considerably, and he exhaled in relief. He rose to his feet again and stood awaiting my next instruction.   
I drank in the sight of his handsome body. Fading scars marked his torso, cruel reminders of what had transpired in Angband. I could not help thinking that they merely served to highlight his other physical charms. Perhaps my eyes were biased since I have always worshipped him. 

I walked to stand but a few inches before him. With the index finger, my right hand traced a long scar than ran down his throat. The touch wrought no visible reaction in him. I sighed. He had been right. Lovers’ caresses would not work.

“What caused this?” I asked quietly.

He did not reply, nor did he meet my gaze. But his nostrils flared slightly as the scent of the ale on my breath. It made me furious that he would look down upon my failing when I was trying so hard to understand his. 

“Damn you!” I clenched my hand around his arm and pulled him to me. “Say something!”

I noticed a red flush creeping up the high cheekbones. The organ of our gender that had lain passive between us now stirred slightly. His breathing rate had increased. I closed my eyes and controlled my urge to smother him with courtly kisses and make slow, fulfilling love to him. 

Instead, I grasped his shoulder all the more tightly and demanded, “Answer me!” 

“I don’t know what caused it!” His voice was clipped and hoarse. He did not meet my eyes even then. 

I pulled him to the low cot in the corner of the tent and shoved him down onto it. He bit down on his lips to stifle a groan as I followed him on my hands and knees holding him a prisoner within my limbs. 

“Open your eyes and look at me,” I commanded harshly as I brought his sprawled legs closed with my knees. 

He jerked in surprise, but obeyed me. So it was true: feigning confidence does tend to improve your subordinates' morale. I ruefully pushed away the thought. This was not the time to think of wartime strategies.

I fell in love with him all over again. His eyes shone with self-disgust, penance and bone-deep humiliation that warred with his need. 

We stared at each other for long moments before he whispered in a broken voice, “Mock me.”

I did not reply. I brought my lips to the mottled area of scars on his right shoulder. He gasped as I sucked on the still healing tissue. It must have pained him. But he arched towards me, subtly begging me to repeat it. I complied, holding him down firmly. I moved across to other scars and repeated the attentions. He broke into a long, deep moan when the buttons of my tunic raked roughly over his nipples. Pain granted him the greatest sensation, and pain I would deliver. I bit down on his collarbone. He gasped and threw his neck back wantonly.  
I pulled back and asked in a breathy voice, “More?”

He did not reply, lying still beneath me. I knew I would never understand him in this matter. I glanced at the half-empty goblet of ale that stood on the bed-side table. It shone dully in the firelight. I glanced back at Maitimo. A trickle of blood ran down his wrist from one of the wounds that had reopened during our tussling. 

"Have you been forced to drink your own blood and found that you liked the taste?"

I shudder to think of what I did then. I unsheathed my knife and waved it before his eyes. He tensed as he regarded the object. 

“Do you trust me?” I asked him as I brought the knife to one of his earlobes and gently slid it down.

He stiffened and met my gaze in horror.

“Do you trust me?” I asked again as I brought the knife down his long throat. 

Fear rose in his eyes. I thought he would demand that I stop. But he did not. His arousal which had waned during our activities now returned with vigour. Somewhere behind the fear and shock in his grey eyes shone craving and disgust. 

I gulped as I grazed the knife down his throat, drawing a crimson trail. He swallowed and moaned as the warm blood pooled down into the crooks of his collarbone. I watched in frightened fascination even as he looked into my eyes imploringly. I brought the bloodstained knife to his lips. He shrank back, torn between fear, desire and disgust.

“Drink.” I ordered him, fighting down my nausea at this scene. 

He shook his head mutely staring all the while at the knife. A drop of blood trickled down onto his lips. He parted them instinctively and flinched as his tongue tasted the blood.

“No,” he begged me, tears gathering in his eyes.

I would rather have killed myself than see him in such a state. But the doom has shorn all dignity and courage from us. 

“Drink.” I raked my nails gently over his scrotal sac making him groan and thrust upwards wildly.

 

“Please," he begged again, the tears clumping on his eyelashes as he averted his gaze. “I cannot.” 

I did not relent. I brought down the knife to his lips. He parted them and gasped as the taste of it overwhelmed him. I reached down under the cot for the oil I had already warmed for the purpose and anointed my arousal with it. He still had his eyes firmly closed as he held the knife between his teeth.

“Bite down on it,” I advised him as I forced his legs apart and positioned myself. I shoved a cushion underneath his hips to ease the angle.

He did not open his eyes or give any other signal that he feared my intentions. I considered that an acknowledgement and drove into him. The thrusts were not kind or slow. My imagination had always pictured him to be the one doing the taking. I might as well as give up my soft, loving dreams for us. He was too broken and I lacked morals.

His forehead creased in pain as my thrusts became erratic and wild. I could see that it cost him much not to arch up towards me in an effort to alleviate his need. Finally, I felt the contractions start in my loins as my climax rose. I bit down on a shout and landed atop him exhausted. 

“Are you all right?” I asked roughly as I regained my breath. I shoved myself up and examined him in concern.

His eyes were still closed, and his teeth were clamped down on the knife. I sighed and gently pried the knife away. I inspected his nether regions. There was no bleeding, though the area looked abused.

I made to stroke his still rigid penis. I wanted to pleasure him with my mouth. That particular fantasy had been a long standing one. But he swatted my hand away firmly and pushed himself up. 

“Are you all right?” I asked him again, worried as the calm mask of detachment fell on his features, wiping away emotions.

“I am.” The reply was cool and measured. 

He rose to his feet gingerly and picked up his robe. He turned his back to me as he dressed swiftly and pushed the hair out of his face.

“Thank you, cousin.” 

Before I could say anything else he had left the tent. 

 

“Findekáno?” 

Artanis’s voice stirred me from my drunken stupor. The harsh sunlight made me wince and close my eyes. My head was throbbing painfully. After Maitimo left in the middle of the night, I had drunk myself insensate. 

“If I had known you would be drinking I would have sent someone to keep you company.” Her voice held pity and understanding.

“No.” With the iron will that characterized my grandfather’s house, I rose to my feet and gritted my teeth to subdue the pain. “I promised Turkáno that I would spar with him this morning.”

“You are in no condition to do anything of the sort.” 

Artanis stepped back and tilted her head slightly to examine me. Her nose was crinkled in disgust at the scent of the ale. She reminded me of Maitimo too vividly. I averted my eyes and began moving towards the ewer of water placed in a corner.

She did not speak again. I felt rather than heard her sigh of pity as she strode out of the tent. I bit back a curse and began preparing for the day.

 

When I arrived on the sparring field I saw Turkáno seated on the ground, his long legs drawn up to his chin and a dazzling, sincere smile on his usually grim features. I walked to his side and nudged him on the shoulder. 

He looked up at me and said cheerily, “I did wonder if you would be abed all day, brother!” 

“I had a long night” I muttered.

He raised his eyebrows but did not speak more on the subject. So I turned to watch the scene before me. Findaráto was teaching Maitimo to spar with his left hand. A pang of envy shot through my blood as I watched Findaráto standing behind Maitimo, their bodies in close contact as Findaráto slowly led him through a series of moves with the sword. 

“Findaráto!” Turkáno rose to his feet and brushed off the dust from his tunic. “Let my brother do the honours now. I want a sparring partner. I am afraid that if I spar with Findekáno, he would take out his frustrations from a long night on me.”

“Would you mind?” Findaráto asked Maitimo.

A shadow passed over Maitimo’s face but his reply remained as diplomatic as ever. “If Findekáno has no objection, I would be honoured.”

Turkáno dragged Findaráto away to the other side of the field. I was left alone with Maitimo. I cleared my throat uneasily. The sun shone down upon him, making him a statue of all the virtues he embodied. The creature who had come to my tent the previous night was nowhere to be seen. 

“Shall we spar?” I asked as I drew my sword. I did not want to hold and guide him like Findaráto had. I knew I would not be able to cling to my restraint if I did so.

He nodded in assent and stood back, his left hand loosely gripping his sword. The grey eyes held only the usual detachment and serenity. I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose in exasperation. I did not think that I would be able to face the day when the night lay betwixt us. 

“Did you drink?” Unexpectedly, he opened the conversation. 

“I had to.” 

“I am sorry.” 

He averted his eyes and idly ran his fingers over the sharp edge of his sword. It reminded me of the self-hating creature who had craved the taste of its own blood. I swallowed and brought my eyes to meet his gaze. I saw regret there. 

“Did it help you in any way?” I asked, my tone containing the desperation that I could ill conceal.

He flinched subtly before speaking quietly, “It did, in a way. It was less….less intense.” I made to speak, but he drove on hastily, “I mean, you did give me choice.”

“I could not have done otherwise!” I exclaimed in horror.

“Choice makes it harder. It is awfully hard as it stands, to come to you and ask it of you. Choice is but an illusion. It doesn’t exist.”

“Are you saying that you don’t want a choice?” I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

“It must sound insane.” He sighed and brought his sword up to make lazy circles in the air. 

“How does it help you?” I needed to know if there was reason behind his madness, for madness it was.

He looked uncomfortable before saying quietly, “It helps ground me in reality. At nights I still believe that I am a captive…Being under your care helps me realize I am relatively safe, if that makes any sense at all. I know that I can walk away at any time. I know I won’t be forced.”

“But you don’t speak even when I ask you to. How do I know that I am not forcing you?” I asked, frustrated.

“I don’t understand it either.” He shrugged gracefully and lifted his eyes to the sun as if assuring himself that it continued to exist. I wondered what his fascination with the sun was. Perhaps it was another facet of the insanity that gripped him. 

“I think I understand…” I waited until his eyes met my gaze. “You seek to replace those phantoms of the past with newer, familiar ones.”

He did not reply. But the slight frown creasing his features told me that I had struck some part of the ugly truth.

“Would you allow me to ask for your attentions again?” he asked quietly. 

I wondered if coupling with an insane person would make one insane. I think it does. For I did not hesitate even a moment before replying, “Yes, it helps you in any way.”  
“Why?” he demanded angrily. “Why would you stoop to my level?”

“Because…” Because I loved him and he did not see it. “Because, cousin, I believe that if you are not given what you like, you might as well as like what you are given. I understand your situation. You adapted to the circumstances in the only way you could have. I can find no fault...I will do my best and let us hope that would be enough for you.” 

He inclined his head in a gesture of gratitude. 

I had sealed my doom then. I could never touch him the way he craved without the drink to bolster me. I would never give up the drink since I could not bear the thought of him approaching anyone else for this. 

Torn between the day and the night…I was reminded of the expression on Maitimo’s face when I had brought the bloodstained knife to his lips. Disgust and want had fought for precedence before he had given in to the want. It was the same with me. My chalice would contain a magnificent mixture of shame, disgust, hatred, regret, desire and that tainted love I bore him.

* * *

“To you, Lord Nolofinwë, I humbly hand over the crown of my grandfather. No soul in these lands is worthier than you to be called the High-King of the valiant Noldor.” He bowed his head, the simple, yet, elegant circlet wrought by his father sparkling on his red tresses.

He raised his head again and those grey eyes shone with determination and wistfulness in equal measure as he spoke clearly, “I pledge my alliance to you. You are my uncle, my lord and my King, Nolofinwë.”

He had done it. I sighed in admiration and sadness as I watched him embracing my father. The elder and lower houses of Finwe were reconciled. The younger sons of Fëanáro seemed none too pleased about Maitimo’s decision. I sympathized with them. I did not think that I would be very forgiving of Maitimo had I been in their stead.

“Remarkable specimen, I must say,” Turkáno said as he joined me at the sidelines. “I don’t think I could have gone through that ordeal.”

“He has always been remarkable.” I shrugged and brought my goblet to my lips.

“Go on, join him. I know you want to,” Turkáno teased me the way brothers do. 

He did not suspect anything amiss in my liaison with Maitimo. None of them did. The rumour mills spoke of a passionate love that had blossomed between my cousin and me after the rescue. Perhaps the loud sounds from our chambers at night contributed to the gossip. I believe that even my father did not suspect anything amiss in the arrangement. Artanis might have, but she has always been intuitive than the rest. 

“I believe I shall take your fraternal advice,” I told Turkáno and moved away to find Maitimo. 

He was talking with Círdan, his grey eyes shining in earnestness as he gracefully gestured with his hand to drive home his point. I smiled at the sight despite my inner turmoil. Little things like this scene still had the capacity to twist my heart painfully. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed as he saw me. “Come, cousin. I was talking with Lord Círdan about the need to have a shared defense strategy. Círdan, this, as you well know, is my valiant cousin, Findekáno.”

I was not surprised to find him on excellent terms with the mariner. He had a knack of cultivating relationships rapidly. But I was surprised to hear the tone in which he spoke my name. There was no lingering doubt or greyness in his manner. He could demarcate the night and the day so easily. I turned to watch the dance floor. Artanis and Macalaurë were dancing beautifully to the haunting tunes of the minstrels. I smiled at them. They did suit each other well; his aristocratic features and ebony hair a counterpoint to her radiant complexion and golden tresses. Across them Irissë and Tyelkormo were rendering a less refined variety of the same dance. 

“Would you care for a dance?” I asked Círdan mainly because it was my duty as the host.

”Not particularly," he demurred. “I was quite content with Maitimo’s conversation. I will let you claim his company should he be so inclined. I am old and I understand I cannot be a very stimulating companion.”

“You do yourself great injustice in describing your virtues thus, Círdan,” Maitimo said in his silken voice, polished more by his courtly tones. I melted as butter under the sun listening to his words. “But if you would not be offended, I shall join my cousin for a dance. I have not danced in ages and wish to see if I can still claim some degree of skill in the art.”

“I am sure you can.” Círdan laughed as he stepped back. 

Maitimo smiled and bowed to him before turning to face me. The warm smile was still lingering on his features. My heart did one of its twists and I was not able to mask the pain in my eyes. He noticed it, much to my dismay.

He was about to speak when I hastily said, “Come, I don’t wish to tarry. Shall you lead?”

A seep of colour flushed his throat before he cleared his throat delicately and murmured, “I would be content if you took the lead.”

It did me good to know that I could still occasionally prompt impulsive reactions from him. A passing tray of wine goblets caught my attention. I took a wine I knew he favoured and pressed it into his hand. 

We had stepped onto the dance floor. There was a silence amongst the watching crowd. I knew what the soldiers would whisper about. Perhaps I should not have...He seemed to be equally aware of the attention we were attracting and smiled at me. I was comforted by the smile. He rarely smiled so at me after the rescue. For a moment, I was transported back to Valinor where I had been the hero-worshipper of my beloved cousin.

He brought the goblet to my lips. I met his calm grey gaze. The crowd was cheering us on boisterously. I sipped at the wine and set it down. 

“The dance?” I asked him quietly.

“Yes, the dance. I believe a quartet would be in our interests. Let us find Artanis and Irissë,” he replied as he looked about for our cousins.

I nodded in assent and stepped back. 

“Would you mind if I joined you later?” he asked as he brought the goblet to his lips again, taking a swallow out of it.

“Come.”

 

“Come in,” I spoke as I sensed rather than heard his arrival.

I could hear the sound of the chamber door being closed and the pouring of water from a vessel into the ewer. I did not turn to face him. Perhaps it was because of the charming mood that he had been in all evening that I craved reassurance that I meant more to him than a mere dispenser of his base needs.

But after a few long moments of silence, he said quietly, “I was pretending. It tore me apart to relinquish my right to the crown.”

“It was the only way you saw,” I said. “Do you regret it?”

“Just as cutting off my limb was the only way you saw,” he said evenly. “Do you regret it?”

I waved my hand at the debris of the ale bottles lying about on the ground, “This should tell you that I do.”

He did not reply. I turned to face him. His face was haunted by regret and doubt. I sighed and walked towards him. He let his eyes drop to the ground.

“Please!” I implored. I could not go on in this manner. It was breaking me apart from within.

“I beg you,” he whispered hoarsely. 

I had never been able to resist his commands. It was then too much to hope that I could resist his plea.

“Take off your clothes.” 

He nodded in relief and complied immediately. From the pocket of his robes fell a small riding crop at my feet. It had been contrived to fall exactly there. I knew it would be another of those reckless nights. 

Hours later, after he had screamed himself hoarse, I lay spent upon his still quivering form. By then we had been through this enough for me to even dare alleviating his arousal. He would roughly slap my hands away when I tried to perform the task for him. There would be no words exchanged as he hastily threw his robes on and left the chamber.

But this night, he still lay underneath me, his whole frame shaking. I reached up to pry away the crop from between his teeth. It had not helped much to stifle our cries. He closed his eyes and tried to compose his features into a semblance of calm. 

I shoved myself off him and inspected his form. We had gone further than the usual. The marks on his body were testament to that. I sighed and reached across for the salve I had filched from the healers. 

“I’d rather you didn’t.” His eyes remained closed, but his nose had crinkled in disgust at the strong smell of the salve.

“It will hurt.” I did not need to emphasize. His rapid breathing proved that the pain was overwhelming him.

“I know.” He opened his eyes a fraction and peered up at me. “I would appreciate a moment to recover myself.”

He looked very, very young as he lay flushed and panting on the rustled satin sheets. I could not help a grin as I lay down next to him and idly ran a finger down his chest. He winced as my finger picked up a trail where the crop had ventured earlier.

“On second thoughts, I believe the salve would not go amiss,” he admitted breathily as the pain winded him.

I could not resist. I had to say, “You would do better if you let me minister to you after you let me torture you.”

A rare fleck of good humour surfaced in his eyes as he spoke. “Would you be my judge, my torturer and my healer then?”

“Those and any additional roles you would deign to lay on my shoulders.” I picked up the salve and began gently anointing it on his wounds.

He closed his eyes and tried to compose himself into detachment. I wanted to prevent that. Though I still maintain that his pain was not worth any resulting peace of mind that he claimed, I have felt recompensed when I see his obvious relief at the end of our sessions.

“Do you dislike the smell of the salve?” I asked conversationally. I did not really expect an answer. He rarely spoke than was necessary during these times.

“No,” he admitted after a long moment. “But I do dislike all that is associated with it. The healers, the long days of recuperation, the circumstances that necessitated those long days of recuperation...”

“I understand.” I did understand. What I did not comprehend was his need to surrender his will.

My fingers brushed lingeringly over his now waning erection. I could not resist the gesture. He flinched at the touch. His eyes met mine apprehensively.

“I am sorry.” I moved my fingers away. “I did not mean to startle you so. I know you don’t prefer it.”

“Would it do anything for you?” he asked quietly, his gaze skewering me with its intensity. 

“Everything,” I breathed. For it would. 

He raised his hand to clasp my fingers. He held my gaze as he brought my hand to where it had lingered earlier. The first tentative stroke made him flinch again. I hastened and brought him to completion as fast as I could. It was very clear that he did not enjoy it in the least. He was merely enduring it for my sake. 

I was not surprised when he pushed himself up and made to stand. A wince crossed his features again.

“Stay awhile. It will pass unnoticed by others if you leave after an hour.”

I could not tell him that I wanted him to stay for my sake. If he would spend the night in my bed at least once, I would consider myself immensely fortunate. 

He frowned before saying dismissively, “The rumours are already lurid. I don’t think the time or condition in which I leave your chambers matter much. I should leave. Macalaurë always checks in on me at dawn when he rises. There will be a ruckus if I am missing. You know that he does not hold our relationship in very high esteem.”

I knew that and I knew that reason why Macalaurë did not hold the arrangement in ‘very high esteem’. But I did not think that Maitimo was ready to hear the truth though he was undoubtedly the only one who remained unaware of the fact that his brother desired him.

 

Things came to a head shortly after that night. Maitimo found a heartfelt poetic letter that his brother had misplaced. His innate curiosity ensured that he painstakingly translated the Sindarin runes Macalaurë had mastered. The result was not very pleasing. 

“Eru!” His exclamation brought me running from the next chamber. 

I took one glance at his shocked features before understanding the situation. He had never looked so shaken. I managed to coax him to sit on the bed and tried explaining matters. His betrayed gaze told me that all was in vain.

“I trusted him, Findekáno!” He waved the letter in my face before crumpling it and letting it fall to the ground. “I trusted him with everything.”

“This does not break that trust in any manner.” 

I tried to be the voice of reason despite the fact that I was defending a fellow contender for Maitimo’s heart. The only consolation was that I knew clearly he would not ever enter a conventional relationship. 

“Why are you kneeling before my brother so early in the morning?” Macalaurë teased me as he entered the room with Artanis.

I shot him a warning glance and made to speak. But Maitimo beat me to it. 

“How dare you! How dare you write these disgusting words!” He kicked the parchment at his feet.

Macalaurë blanched in horror as he realized what the letter was. Artanis looked at me worriedly. I shrugged and stepped back. There was little I could do but hope that Maitimo would calm down soon and judge reasonably. I suppose I do not blame him for his highly strung state. I would have gone mad if I had realized one fine morning that Turkáno desired me. The mere thought gave me a shudder.

“I did not expect you to find it, far less translate it!” Macalaurë exclaimed in plain fear. “Brother, I swear I didn’t!”

“You call me brother and yet you dared write this?” Maitimo asked bitterly as he kicked the parchment again.

Artanis looked terrified as she hastily left the chamber, probably to summon my father. I knelt down and picked up the parchment before Maitimo could abuse it any further.

“I have never touched you out of desire. I never shall.” Macalaurë was fighting a lost cause. 

I sighed as Maitimo began ranting furiously about lust, sin and kin. Knowing that I had a very great contribution in adding to his fear did not help my guilt at all. 

My father arrived and tried to mediate between the still quarrelling brothers. But Maitimo was unrelenting and disgusted. 

Finally Macalaurë drew his chin up defiantly and said, “The courtiers have been pressing us for an alliance. Please inform the court that I consent to marry the first lady of their choice. Seeing that neither my elder brother nor Findekáno are in an amenable frame of mind to take a spouse, I will take it upon myself to ensure the continuation of our bloodline.”

That silenced Maitimo. He stared at his brother for a long time before saying quietly, “I believe that my presence is required somewhere else.”

 

I knew I should rejoice in the fact that the only serious rival for Maitimo’s heart had backed away. Macalaurë had always kept his word. If he married he would bury his dark desire and remain true to his vows of fidelity. But I could not bring myself to rejoice. For one, he had never been a contender. He had masterfully hidden his secret from Maitimo for years before this unfortunate incident. Also, Macalaurë was a calming influence on his brother. 

The physical relationship between us had spoiled our friendship.. On the other hand, Maitimo trusted his brother completely and always gave in to his wisdom. 

Knowing how shakily Maitimo negotiated the line between sanity and madness, I decided to reconcile the brothers at any cost. He needed a spiritual anchor. I could not be that, flawed as both of us were. 

My efforts were all in vain. Macalaurë refused stubbornly to heed his brother’s apologies. The wedding was a grand affair. After the ceremony, Macalaurë presented his bride to Maitimo formally. I don’t think I had ever seen Macalaurë look so tormented. He had been driven to this course just as helplessly as I had been driven to drink.

“Macalaurë,” Maitimo smiled wistfully as he cupped his brother’s cheek with his sole palm. “Live well, and find happiness. I would do anything to see you happy, brother. And as for what frightened me then, I can only ask for forgiveness. Reason had fled my mind.”

“Why ask my forgiveness?” Macalaurë asked bitterly. “I was at fault.”

“The laws of the Gods cannot rule the passions of our hearts.” Maitimo’s grey, wise eyes sparkled with conviction. 

After this exhausting conversation, I was not really surprised when he joined me later and asked in a quiet tone, “May I--?”

“Yes.”

 

He seemed introspective and distant all through our coupling. I knew what had happened, but could not bring myself to open the subject. So we continued until his body could take no more. He thanked me as usual and threw his robes on before leaving my chambers. That he did not notice my lack of virility spoke volumes about the single-mindedness of his thoughts that night.

* * *

I did not see Maitimo for a long while. The affairs of his land consumed his time and he rarely sent letters. My warriors often asked me why I did not travel to meet my lover. I would speak of duty and public welfare. After all, I could not have told them that Maitimo and I had never been ‘lovers’. It was but an appeasement of needs on his side and something akin to love on mine. 

I did not pine for him. It was not in my nature to do so. I drank, I bedded women and lads indiscriminately, and I found new distractions as hunting and fishing. Even then there seemed to be an inordinate period of time every day and night when I was thinking about him. I suppose I did pine.

My sister’s disappearance brought him to my land. We rode on her trail. His eyes scanned the ground even as mine took in his haggard features. He seemed to be driving himself into death by exhaustion. 

“….no tracks on the other side of the stream. So she must have walked past the…” his words trailed away as he registered my gaze. 

He cleared his throat and moved his eyes back to the path. But the slight discomposure was enough reassurance for me. He was not as unaffected by my presence as he pretended to be. 

Findaráto joined us later in the day. I was glad of his company since being with Maitimo has the unfortunate effect of fogging down my senses. 

I retired early. I had given instructions for my tent to be erected away from the rest. We had not seen each for many years. But a dark part of me prayed that he had not conquered his personal demons, for only that would bring him to me. 

I filled the ewer with water. I spread my cloak on the ground. It would have to suffice. I had not anticipated meeting him. Else I would have brought a mattress. Would he come? Perhaps the proximity of so many of our warriors who revered him might make him stay away. Our cousin Findaráto’s presence too might give Maitimo second thoughts. Of course, all these thoughts were spun from the basic belief that he craved our activities. For all I knew, years of self-imposed isolation in his land might have cured his urges. My thoughts continued to torment me until I poured myself a strengthening measure of ale. Over the years the drink has turned into my most faithful companion. 

As I bent down to straighten the edges, I heard his hesitant voice from the entrance to the tent, “May I come in?”

I turned to face him. He stood in the entrance to the tent, his features encased by moonlight. It reminded me forcibly of the very first time we had done this. I waved my hand in a welcoming gesture. He cast his eyes to the ground as he stepped in. The long separation and the intoxicated state I was in killed all consciousness of my surroundings. My senses were aware of only his robe-clad form. 

I wanted to kiss him. We had never done that, since he would firmly turn his head away each time I attempted to do so. I strode over to him and pulled him down. His exclamation of surprise went unheeded as my fingers twined around his neck and my tongue forced its way into his mouth. If I had hoped that he would try to speak, thus granting me an opportunity to delve my tongue further into his mouth, I was mistaken. He remained stiff and unresponsive in my embrace, his breathing harsh and uneven. He would not willingly grant me the intimacy of a kiss. 

I pulled back and watched with dark satisfaction as he staggered slightly. His eyes were wide as he met my gaze. 

“Kiss me,” I commanded him.

“No.” He frowned slightly and crinkled his nose in disgust at the smell of ale. “You have been drinking.”

“You know I need to. Kiss me.”

“It would make it seem what it is not.” A shadow passed over his weary features. It was barely discernible. But I, who had devoted my life to the study of every expression on his face, knew what it portended.

“Have you taken a lover?” I asked him. My voice had never sounded so brittle. 

His eyes became wider and he shook his head. “No. Must we have a conversation?”

“You could kiss me.”

He did not reply. His eyes were again on the ground and his fingers were nimbly undoing the laces of his robe.

“Wait. If we are to proceed any further I must have your word that you shall obey my every whim.”

He stopped undressing and looked up at me warily. Even in the unreliable candlelight I could see the faint flare of arousal in his eyes. 

“Even if the whim includes kissing?” he asked me coldly.

“Indeed,” I replied.

“I cannot. I shall leave.” The uncertainty in his voice was music to my ears.

“You will not leave,” I predicted smugly.

He made a convulsive gesture with his fingers before murmuring quietly, “Yes, I cannot leave.” 

I waited patiently until he said, “I promise to obey.” The last word was spoken with a distasteful curl about his lips. “You have my word.”

“I will not harm you.” 

I moved forward to place my hands on his shoulders. He remained silent though the slight quirk of his lips told me that he did not trust me at all. It infuriated me. I had converted myself into something I hated for his sake. He could have held me in higher esteem.

“Now you may remove your clothes.” 

He seemed relieved to begin. He complied with his usual detachment and stepped out of his robe gracefully. Even in the candlelight I could see the scars that were probably from his latest battles. He had not used himself lightly. He stood motionless, bearing my scrutiny with a calm I wanted to shatter. Was it only the pain I could provide that he craved? 

“Do you wish to see me naked?”

His eyes met mine in shock. It was one of our unspoken rules that I remained clothed. Till then I had given it no thought. In fact, the contrast between his unclothed form and my clothed one had merely increased my exhilaration. But now, I was seething. I wanted him to want me, not my services. 

“Answer me!” 

He flinched and I could see that my unusual streak of willful domination had wrought its effect on his arousal. 

“If you command me to.” 

He had decided on the safest answer close to negation. I fumed. He did not have the slightest interest in me beyond this depraved relationship. 

“I command you. Come and disrobe me.”

He hesitated. I picked up my horse-whip from the ground and lashed out cruelly. The strike caught him across his chest. He jumped in shock and a quickly muffled shout of pain escaped him. Regret bloomed noxiously in my mind as a red stripe broke the whiteness of his skin. I was about to apologize when he closed the distance between us. His fingers began fumbling with the buttons on my tunic. My regret was replaced by dark triumph. 

The only sound was that of his ragged breathing. The lash had caught him entirely unaware. If I had not been so drunk I would have at least examined his wound. But I was drunk. I remained standing as the tunic slipped off my shoulders and dropped to the ground. 

“Fold it.”

I knew he would find it impossible. The task was not meant for someone with only five fingers to spare. After a few moments of clumsiness he ceased trying. The whip descended on him again. He bit down on his lips to stifle his pain. I discovered that regret decreases each time one repeats a crime.

“Kiss me.”

He did not dare disobey me again. A smile curled my lips as he obeyed. When I nudged his lips with my tongue he opened his mouth meekly. My nails raked over the lash marks on his skin making him groan in pain. His erection rubbed against mine as I pulled him close. 

I wanted him to lose control entirely. He had a strong will. He would put up with whatever I devised without giving me the satisfaction of causing his orgasm. Not this night; this night I was determined to make him plead for it.

I forced him down onto his knees and brought my erection to his mouth. He drew his head back in distaste and looked up at me. I brushed his right cheek with the whip. His grey eyes had turned almost black in fear. Lazily, I rubbed the underside of his rigid penis with my left boot. He flinched and pulled backwards wildly, reminding me of the stallion my father had once tamed. I continued toying with the boot. 

“Stay still or I shall have to resort to the whip again,” I warned. “I don’t think you can afford to explain a lash mark on your face.”

I could see the tremor in his body. He was afraid. It gave me a heady course of triumph. If all that he wanted was pain then he would never dare approach me again. His hand fisted as I idly traced my boot over his genitals. I increased the pressure slightly and it won me the plea I had been awaiting.

“Stop, please.” His voice was broken with the effort he put in to mask the pain.

I knew he would not pleasure me orally. If I forced him he might be a passive participant. But I did not want him to be passive. I wanted him to beg.

“The tin of salve is to your left. Prepare yourself for me.” 

I wanted to watch him doing it. Would his face contort when he did it? Always it had been I who would take precautions. He had never seemed to care.

“No.” His voice was firm. 

I cursed as I lost my patience and bore him down to the ground. We ended in a sorry tangle of limbs. But I did not care. I pushed his legs apart with mine and held him down. His face was averted from mine. I did not need to see his eyes to know that the wetness on his cheeks was caused by tears. His lips were broken from his efforts to stifle the pain by biting down on them. Sweat pooled down into his collarbone lending his skin a rich sheen. A filigree of veins stood out in his throat as he strained his face away from my gaze. I bit down on his neck possessively and laughed as he rubbed against me in passion-induced abandon. 

When I joined with him he arched up in pain and I had to clamp my hand over his mouth to subdue his scream. It had been a very long time for him. His nails gouged the ground as he sought something to cling to. 

“Easy!” I admonished him as he bucked again, his body desperate for release. 

A cry of horror brought my awareness back to the surroundings. I pushed back the lingering crash of orgasm and looked up. Findaráto stood above us, his face blanched in fear and anger.

“Eru!” I cursed.

Findaráto was the last person who would understand our relationship. He rushed in and fell onto his knees beside us. 

His voice was trembling as he asked, “Have you truly fallen so low, Findekáno?”

“It is not what you think.” Maitimo’s voice was broken and yet retained a semblance of calm dignity. 

I wondered how he had regained his composure so rapidly. My intoxicated senses were yet to entirely comprehend the situation.

“Silence!” Findaráto commanded as he pushed me off Maitimo’s body. He inhaled sharply and his features became a grimace as he smelt the ale. He began inspecting the lash marks on Maitimo’s torso, his face drawn in fear.

“I will not allow this before him! Spare me that if you spare me nothing else!” Maitimo hissed angrily as he stumbled onto his feet. He was avoiding my eyes industriously. I rose to my feet slowly and pushed my hair out of my face.

Findaráto turned to face me, cursing wildly. His hand inched over his sword, the intent clear in his furious face. 

Before I could react, Maitimo made a sobbing sound in his throat and said hoarsely, “No, please. Don’t harm him. It is not worth it.”

His loss of composure was what stayed our cousin. Maitimo had never fallen apart even in those early days after the rescue from Angband that to see him so frail and broken extinguished Findaráto’s wrath. 

He undid his cloak and wrapped it around Maitimo’s unresisting form before saying, “Come.”

I slumped down and massaged my throbbing temples with my hands. Findaráto would not speak of this to anyone. I knew him well enough. But the episode merely proved how dangerous the path I had chosen could be. Ale and lust should never be mixed. I had truly frightened Maitimo this night with my actions. Had I lost his trust? That would happen only if he had trusted me at all. He craved pain. What was the difference between pain and fear? 

The worst realization was that I did not regret in the least any of my actions. Have I truly fallen so low?

 

“I am sorry.” I offered the next morning as we rode together to my father’s keep.

“You are not.” 

He was as composed as he always was under the sun. Was it only the cover of night which could ruffle his self-possession?

I peered at him closely. His lips were cracked from our activities. He wore a simple high-collared tunic which was unusual for him. He preferred to wear his mail suit even during journeys. 

“Your lashes; the wounds are yet to close. I did not want to risk aggravating them.” He threw me a haughty glare before looking away.

“Are you very angry?” I asked quietly. I did not regret anything I had done last night. But to face his wrath in the morning did make me feel rather daunted. 

“Given your expectations as to how you want me to be, I had expected this to happen sooner or later in the course of our…our arrangement.” He shrugged. “I confess I was overwhelmed by the intensity. I hadn’t thought about your ale when I first approached you.”

“Do you regret it?” It was better to bring it all out into the open. I had been hiding behind the pretense for a very long time. 

He turned to look at me in surprise. “No! Those nights helped me ground myself in reality. I don’t think I would have stayed sane but for them. I am more grateful than I can say.”

“What has changed now?” I asked, trying not to betray my unease. “Have you found a more suitable arrangement with someone in your realm?”

He looked slightly confused before he asked me, “Do you think I am brash and courageous enough to enter into such relationships so easily?”

Relationship; he had finally used the term. I huffed out a breath as I thought of the long years when I had wanted him to refer to our ‘arrangement’ as some kind of relationship.

“Something has changed,” I persisted.

“I was taken aback by your ardour of yesterday.” He glanced at me ruefully. 

“So you wish to cease?”

“I did not say anything of the sort.” He raised his eyes to squint at the bright sun. “Perhaps I have gained some kind of mental equilibrium.”

“Your mental equilibrium was gained at the cost of mine!” I said bitterly. He did not reply for my accusation was true.

We rode silently for a long time before he said quietly, “If you wish, things shall not change between us. I cannot deny that I have been culpable in this. But I must admit that my need for the reassurance that this arrangement gives is a thing of the past.” 

“Why did you come to me yesterday?” I demanded harshly. 

I was furious. He had gained his ‘mental equilibrium’. I had risked and lost everything in my folly to convince myself that I mattered to him. I could not blame him. I had ensnared myself the first time I had taken advantage of his bedridden state. 

He turned to glance at me uncertainly before admitting in a flustered voice, “Desire. Why else? I had been chaste since our last meeting. The tension I had been constantly under, the trauma of Irissë’s disappearance and the long isolation…I wanted to feel alive.”

Reason enough. How many times had I summoned a courtesan merely because I was bored? My concern for his isolation overcame my anger at the situation and I made my suggestion.

“Take a lover, cousin.” 

His features froze for a moment before he laughed, his voice sending warm caresses down my spine.

“I was serious!” I said perturbed by his reaction.

“Forgive my mirth, cousin,” he said through another bout of laughter. “I was merely stunned by your simple solution.”

“You find it amusing?”

“Not at all. I find it downright hilarious.”

“Pray, explain?”

He stopped laughing and gazed at the sun thoughtfully before saying, “I cannot embrace a lover when there is no love between us. I am old-fashioned…I seek something spiritual in the relationship, not merely lust and affection.”

“You have been seeking this perfect relationship for a very long time. Have you come any closer to it?” I asked acidly.

That he could not yet accept my love failed to provoke my wrath any more. I had acknowledged his unwillingness. But that he still laboured under the illusion of hoping to find a perfect relationship irked me. Where was his famed pragmatism?

“I believe that each day takes me closer to it, cousin.” 

His eyes were slightly wistful as he fingered a button on his tunic. Odd, I realized, I remembered the tunic. My mother had gifted it to him in Tirion in happier times. I dimly recollected that the buttons on the cream tunic were wrought from pearls. But the button his finger traced was black. I looked down at the rest of the buttons. They were all from pearl. 

“Findekáno?” he asked curiously.

“It is odd that but one button would be black,” I remarked cautiously. Maitimo was notoriously reticent about his personal matters. I did not wish to destroy what vestiges of trust remained between us.

“Ah! That is what I complained of to Macalaurë. You see, I lost the original button while hunting with him in Formenos. He promised to sew on a new one if I could bag more game than he did. I won. The sly creature that he can be, he sewed on one of his dismal black buttons. I would have never worn the tunic again but for the fact that I have become fond of it.”

His features had transformed as he spoke. Life shone in his grey eyes and a smile lingered on his lips. How many times had I wanted to see him thus when he was speaking about me? It did not need a very wise person to deduce his emotions. But the blind fool that he could be as regards his own heart, I was sure that he was not aware of the turn his feelings had taken.

We made a sorry tangle of hearts. Macalaurë had married a woman out of spite. He had sworn to bury his desire forever. I was hopelessly ensnared by Maitimo who did not care in the least about my regard. It had driven me to irresponsible lust and drink. Now he seemed to be in the grip of love himself. What path would it take him?

“You seem preoccupied, cousin.”

“Have you ever wished to be a blade of grass?”

“No, I can’t say that I have ever had such fanciful ambitions!” he smiled at me. “Why do you wish so?”

“It has a remarkably uncomplicated life.”

* * *

Findaráto’s death had me rushing to Himring. He had been a powerful leader of our cause. I feared that with his death our already weakening strategies would crumble. I needed Maitimo’s counsel. He had always been the better tactician.

I reached my cousin’s castle one wintry night, accompanied by my captains. Atarinkë received my delegation and hosted a late dinner with his characteristic élan. He apologized courteously for his brother’s inability to discharge the duties of the host. Apparently Maitimo was in a hamlet further north attending the marriage of one of his soldiers. I had arrived earlier than expected. 

Macalaurë greeted me at breakfast the next morning, his words as polite and aloof as has always been the case when he addressed me. He and I have never been close. I did not understand his passion for music, and he failed to appreciate my love of hunting. 

“I take it that Maitimo has not yet returned?” 

It was more a statement than a question. I knew well that Macalaurë would not have deigned to receive me formally if his brother had been there to perform the task.

“Yes, Lord King.” 

He did not add more and turned his attention to his meal. Though I tried hard to rekindle polite conversation I did not succeed. 

“I trust that your wife is in good health?” I asked finally as I racked my head for new topics to introduce.

He favoured me with a disdainful look before asking, “How is Ereinion?”

“I beg your pardon?” I was bewildered. I did have a long list of lovers and mistresses. But I was reasonably sure that none of them were named ‘Ereinion’.

His lips curled in scorn as he explained with suppressed mirth, “Your son, of course.”

I sat back in the chair and stared at his amused features. He reminded me of his father. Fëanaro would not have embraced diplomacy even if his life had been at stake. Macalaurë was cast from the same stubborn mould. 

My son…It had been a misadventure with a woman in Círdan’s land. I did not even remember her name. Círdan had sent an epistle informing me of the pregnancy and the birth. I had been tricked by her, for she had told me that she was not fertile. I would have no part of it.

 

My incredulity overwhelmed my anger at Macalaurë and I had to ask. “Círdan named the boy Ereinion?” 

He gazed at me over the rim of his goblet before shrugging elegantly and saying, “It was not the mariner’s doing.”

The mother could not have possibly named the boy thus. She had been too illiterate. “Whose, then?"

“My brother acknowledges the bastard as your heir. Russandol named him Ereinion, the scion of kings. Apt indeed, don’t you think?”

I was assailed by a multitude of emotions. Anger at Macalaurë for the lofty ,moral tone he had used, sense of betrayal that the woman had used me, bewilderment that Círdan had gone along with Maitimo’s whims and finally begrudging admiration for my cousin who had dared to acknowledge a bastard as the next in line to the throne.

“I confess that I don’t really pay much attention to my brother when he speaks of this bastard of yours. But whatever I know, I am perfectly willing to regale you with, Lord King.” 

I was relieved when the ordeal ended. 

It is surprising how offspring of the same loins can be so disparate. 

 

“Who gave you the right to track down scattered seed and appoint them heirs?” I asked my cousin irritably in the middle of a strategy discussion.

He smiled with amusement before saying in a tone of utter innocence, “I am sure I know nothing of what you accuse me.”

I cursed under my breath before saying, “Ereinion indeed!”

“Are you displeased by the choice of name?” Maitimo asked me, polite inquisitiveness gracing his handsome features. “Círdan calls him Gil-Galad. If you would wish to call the child something else…”

“Between the two of you, I am sure that the child has enough names!” I huffed. “I shall not acknowledge that he is my son. You are free to do whatever you wish.”

“Have you never wanted a son?” he asked quietly.

“No.” I was firm and I was speaking the plain truth. “Have you?”

“I have always wanted one. A son or a daughter,” he admitted as he returned to his maps.

“You can still beget one.” I shrugged. “Women would clamour to get the chance of mothering your child.”

“I wanted a child born of love. I do not believe that I am worthy of loving a woman anymore,” he said almost inaudibly. 

I did not reply.

“Macalaurë seemed most unhappy about my arrival,” I said, breaking the silence.

He chuckled as he traced a long finger on the chart. “Are you surprised?”

“I have to admit that I am not. If there is one vice that we can safely say your brother is not guilty of, it is inconsistency. He has always treated me so.” 

“I’d rather you did not cross him. He has a frightful temper when truly provoked. I shall arrange for hunting expeditions so that you may stay out of his way.”

I walked to him and placed my hand on his shoulder. He looked up. A faint glimmer of interest shone in his deep grey eyes.

I wound a coil of his unruly hair about my index finger. On any but him such hair would have looked incongruous. My twin cousins had always been unhappy about the colour of their hair, though their manes were browner than that of Maitimo. Perhaps it was the innate confidence in him; perhaps it was his lack of self-awareness about his physical appearance; perhaps it was his acceptance, but I have never heard Maitimo complaining about the hair. 

“Maitimo?” Atarinkë poked his head into the chamber. “The hunting party has been arranged. Tomorrow at dawn.”

“Thank you, brother.” 

Maitimo discreetly stepped away from me. Atarinkë was glaring rather rudely. Maitimo cleared his throat and remarked something inane about the weather being fine for hunting. I do not recall hearing a more ludicrous comment from his lips. Atarinkë probably thought the same for he raised his eyebrows and turned to leave.

“Brother, will you escort our cousin this evening for the welcoming feast?” Maitimo asked breezily as if he was confirming the arrangement than suggesting it.

Atarinkë looked surprised and said uneasily, “It would be remarked upon if you do not make your presence at the feast.”

“I will join you soon,” Maitimo assured smoothly.

Atarinkë nodded and left. I turned to face Maitimo and glared at him.

“I merely have some pressing matters that need my attention.” 

He seemed earnest enough. But having learnt diplomacy from my father, it was not beyond him to smoothly lie when he felt compelled to. 

“I am not lying. I have never lied to you,” he growled and stalked out of the chamber without a backward glance.

I knew I should pursue him and render an apology for doubting him. But I remained where I was, struck by his parting words. He had never lied to me. It made me unbearably ecstatic to hear that in his own way he trusted me.

 

Atarinkë and I spoke blandly about hunting as we descended to the feasting halls. The brightly lit high-ceilinged chambers were a stark contrast to the snowy night without. Through the large windows one could see glimpses of the blackness that was Angband. Sharp eyes might even discern the jagged formation of Thangorodrim, a place that had driven me to drink and Maitimo to depravity. The chattering of the bejeweled ladies and richly-clad warriors within the castle lent a surreal air to the grim circumstances that had brought me to Himring.

“I would not have dared expect such a magnificent feast for a war counsel,” I muttered under my breath.

“It is one of those things which would be quintessentially Maitimo,” Atarinkë laughed wryly.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Lit up from within even when deeply oppressed from all directions. He is remarkable that way.” Atarinkë offered me a weary smile.

“Indeed.”

It was one of those very rare moments in life. I was entirely in accord with something Atarinkë had opined. He seemed to realize the same, for his eyes sparkled in mirth before he went across to join Macalaurë, who was surveying the hall with his habitual disdain.

Macalaurë had, for once, attired himself suitably for the occasion. It was a relief to see him in something else than his dismal black robes. Clad in dark purple silk, he cut a striking figure. In fact, he resembled his father as he gestured eloquently with his hands while conversing with Atarinkë. 

“A very festive atmosphere,” Maitimo murmured as he came to stand by my side.

I turned to beam at him. He was clad in a simple grey robe. Standing beside him I felt grossly over-decorated in my rich attire. I was about on comment on the revelry when I saw his eyes widen in obvious pleasure. I followed his line of sight. Macalaurë was smiling at him. Sensing my gaze, Macalaurë hastily diverted his attention to Atarinkë.

“Cousin?” Maitimo asked me concernedly as I remained staring at Macalaurë.

“Nothing,” I said darkly. 

He did not remark on the sudden dampening of my spirits. As the king, I was forced to mask my emotions and cheerfully partake in the festivities. Maitimo was in an irrepressibly merry mood. His occasional glances at Macalaurë held such deep affection that I was forced to drink more than was usual for me at such august gatherings. He did not mind. Indeed, he joined me in my indulgence willingly. As the night drew on the crowd turned boisterous. I had lost track of time and situation entirely until Maitimo murmured that we needed to retire if I wished to join the hunting party at dawn.

As he led me to my chambers, he said quietly,. “Macalaurë believes that there is more between us than exists.” 

“Rumours spread like wildfire. The unconventional arrangement we had once shared does add a lurid sheen to the gossip.” I was drunk and trying to sound profound. 

“I am at a loss to comprehend why you condone these rumours,” Maitimo said harshly.

“They speak of that they see,” I said placidly.

He seemed affected by the drink more than I. I was not surprised for it had been an uncommon indulgence on his side.

“I shall not have people thinking of me thus!”

“It matters little to you, as things stand. I have a son and many a lover,” I said matter-of-factly. “People think that I am cheating on you. You have to make your stand clear to none.”

“It is no fault of mine that I don’t bed everyone I fancy,” he said sullenly, his eyes glazed by the wine.

“You have not taken a lover, and I have never pressed my suit, for it is not in me to force you to a path that you had little desire to traverse.”

“Except when you are not in entire possession of your senses,” he cut in wryly.

“I noticed the way you were staring at Macalaurë,” I said quietly, my tongue loosened by the drink. “My father once told me that if you had ever chosen to take a lover, it would have been Macalaurë.”

“He and I are not lovers,” he said in a soft, dangerous tone that I had rarely heard. “Tread lightly, Findekáno. It took me years to earn his forgiveness over the way I treated him in this matter.”

“I am worthier than he ever can be, should it be that you have finally chosen to brave this path,” I said bitterly.

We were facing each other. My hands crept of their own accord to grip his waist. He shook his head to clear his senses even as he tried to extricate himself.

I pressed the entire length of my body against him, making him balance against the corridor wall. He lifted his head passively as I bent to press a kiss to the exposed whiteness of his neck. A faint moan of pleasure sounded from his lips as he arched upwards exposing his neck further, his arm falling limp at his side. He had slid a few inches down the wall as my fingers parted the ties on his robes.

“Brother!” It came out in a torrent of anger, wounded pride, hate, and jealousy.

I stepped back hastily. Maitimo looked at the third party; dawning horror displaced the languidly pleasant haze that had shone in his grey eyes.

“I will see you at dawn, for the hunt.” I hastily took my leave, fear rising in my blood at the murderous expression on Macalaurë’s face. 

 

 

I stood on the ramparts of the castle as I willed myself into a semblance of composure. A strong gale prevailed, striking me with snowflakes. I sighed as I caught one and watched it melt slowly into liquid nothingness. The biting cold was awakening my drink-dulled senses. 

“Were you surprised?”

“No.” 

I turned to face Atarinkë. His face remained obscured by the hood he had pulled down to shield himself from the snow.

“He does love you.”

“He is not in love with me.” I waved my hand disgustedly at the darkness of Angband before us. “It was merely a shared terror that brought us together. Macalaurë could not have understood it. Nobody could have. But I could… he had begged death of me. I didn’t let him die then. I dragged him back to life despite his unwillingness. I owed it to him to repair his sanity.”

“Is that what prompted you?” I did not need to see him to know that a disbelieving, yet, sympathetic smile was curling his lips.

“No,” I admitted quietly. It was difficult to confess even the slightest portion of the sordid truth that had brought us together. “I don’t think I can explain it.”

“I know.”

 

“May I come in?” 

His voice was tentative. I took in a deep breath. Could I act well enough to spare us both? No. Could I act well enough to spare him?

I went to the door and let him in. 

“An excellent feast, was it not, cousin?” he began redundantly. For him to lower into petty politeness, I flattered myself that he was extremely at a loss in the situation.

“Yes. Will you join me for the hunt?” I asked in as dispassionate a tone as I could muster. 

It was hard. He stood but inches before me, his eyebrows furrowed in a lost expression as he regarded me nervously. He cleared his throat twice before giving it up and nodding his head in assent. I fisted my fingers and clasped them behind my back so as not to give in to the temptation of touching him.

“I promised you that things need not change between us if you wished it so. I would be lying if I said I crave it for I do not. But if you wish to continue the arrangement, I shall hold true to my word,” he spoke earnestly. 

It had been one of the countless reasons why I had fallen in love with him. I knew he would not ever voice a ‘no’ if I wished to continue. He had promised me. He would stay true to his word.

“We cannot continue.” Worry and relief flashed across his features when he heard my words. I hastened on, “It should be clear to you by now that neither morals nor kingdoms can weigh much against my regard for you. But to continue the arrangement would not be fair to any of us, cousin.” 

He nodded and said sadly, “I wish I hadn’t played on your regard.”

“You did give me a choice.” I shrugged. 

He shook his head grimly, negating my statement. He was right. There had never been a choice for me in the matter. I had known that I could not be to him what I wanted. So I had agreed to be what he had wanted me to be then. Now he had no need for my services.

“Tell him the truth,” I said hoarsely. “He will understand.”

“He will not want me then. He loves what I am under the sun. He shall hate what I turn into under the veil of night.” He smiled wryly.

“Only a fool would not want you and Macalaurë is no fool,” I said simply.

“Do you-?” he began, but I cut him off saying, “I touched you without your consent when you were bedridden. The crime was mine.”

“What ensued was not of your making.” 

“I did sow,” I said simply.

He remained silent as he gazed pensively at me. I cleared my throat and said quietly, “Macalaurë shall be a worthier companion than I ever will be. Knowing that makes my decision easier.”

“Thank you,” he whispered as he moved to embrace me.

I stepped back and said quietly, “There is a time to embrace and there is a time to refrain, cousin.” 

It was the hardest thing I had done in my life; to watch the pained regret cross his features as he nodded and moved a step away. I don’t think that even soaking my wretched heart in ale would help it ever forget the pain.

He opened his mouth to speak again. But no words came. He sighed and left the chamber hurriedly, not once looking behind him. 

I slid the bolt shut before letting my one true companion claim me. But, that night, not even the chalice of drink could bring me a paltry measure of solace. Nor did it sooth me the nights after.

 

The terrified child came forward in response to my summons. I could see traces of my brother Turkáno in him. Did that mean the child resembled me? I frowned. I did not wish that.

“My Lord?” he prompted in a faltering voice. 

He did not dare address me as ‘father’. It was well, for I could not have abided it. He stood before me, clad in a simple tunic and leggings. My heir, Maitimo had decreed. An heir I had never wanted.

“Nothing. I came to discuss battle plans with Círdan. He told me that you stayed in the palace. Mere curiosity, I wished to see the lad I had unwittingly engendered.”

Pain flashed across his young features. But he remained silent. Perhaps I should not have been blunt. 

“Where is your mother?” I wanted to ensure that she paid in full for tricking me.

He looked up at me nervously before saying, “She lives in a hamlet to the north with her husband.”

I inhaled sharply. Not only had she lied to me and conceived my child, she had abandoned the boy and embraced a new life. She could have at least informed me. No, a part of me said sadly, I would never have acknowledged the son as mine.

Ereinion was trembling now. I willfully relaxed my grim features into a semblance of ease. Perhaps the time had come to make amends.

“When I return from the battle, will you come and live with me in Hithlum?” I made my offer tentatively.

I could never be a decent father to him. But perhaps I might make a tolerable one. I owed it to him.

He looked stunned and his lips moved speechlessly. I rose from my seat and walked to him. He flinched and drew away as I placed my hand on his shoulder.

“Would you come?” I asked again.

“Won’t the one-handed Fëanorion be angry?” The words had escaped him without meaning to. His startled gaze the next moment convinced me of that.

“What did you hear about him?” I asked gently.

“That he is the reason why you have not married my mother.”

I shook my head in incomprehension. What would I tell him? He was too young to understand what his mother had meant to me: nothing but an hour of lust. 

“My cousin is a gentle soul. He lives in Himring, not in my castle. If you wish, one day, I will take you to visit him. He was the one who named you.”

“So it is true that ‘tis he who rules!” the boy exclaimed.

I frowned and began to explain. But he vowed furiously, “I shall never love a Fëanorion!”

“You needn’t!” I laughed amusedly at his passionate hatred of my cousin’s family. He looked upset at my mirth. 

“If you will come and live with me after the battle I promise you that nothing and nobody shall claim a greater share of my unworthy heart than you will,” I swore earnestly. I wanted him. I wanted to know my son. I wanted to see him grow. 

“Then I shall,” he said quietly.

 

Ereinion waved to me as I rode out of Círdan’s castle. The rays of the setting sun haloed him as he stood on the ramparts…my flesh, my blood, my son.

I would fight in the Union of Maedhros as the alliance was called. I would return victorious to Hithlum. My son would join me. We would build a new future together. 

 

×××FINIS×××

 

 

References in the Song of Sunset:

-The Journal of Maglor  
-The Song of Sunset The 2nd Age  
-The Testament


End file.
